


Taking Care of Business

by Nokomis



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Elvis Impersonator, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tumblr Prompt, Undercover Missions, and super enthusiastic about dressing up as elvis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Tim (only somewhat reluctantly) accompanies Dick on an undercover mission at an Elvis convention.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 114





	Taking Care of Business

**Author's Note:**

> For jescher, who wanted something with Dick and Tim having fun patrolling or working on a case together. Originally posted on tumblr [here](https://nokomiss.tumblr.com/post/622856053316632576/happy-4th-i-would-love-something-with-dick-and).

So the morning started out… weird. And by weird, that meant Tim was startled awake by Dick Grayson jumping on his bed while belting out an off-key rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes.”

“Go away,” Tim tried, shoving his face deeper under the pillow and pulling his legs up into the fetal position, attempting to keep from getting bounced on. He’d had a solid four hours of sleep and planned on getting at least a few more, for once.

Dick ignored him. “Rise and shine, time to fight crime!”

“Crime doesn’t happen at--” Tim blearily poked at his phone, “Eight-thirty in the morning.”

“Crime is _always_ afoot, Timmers,” Dick replied. He hopped off the bed and poked Tim in the side. “Come on. We’ve got that thing you said you’d do with me. You and me! Incognito! It’s gonna be great.”

Tim had absolutely no memory of whatever mission Dick was claiming that he’d agreed to. “When, exactly, did I agree to this?” 

“Uh, four weeks ago,” Dick said. “When we were patrolling the East End. Remember? The night we rescued those puppies?”

Tim definitely remembered the puppies, they’d been adorable. And Dick had said something about---

He opened his eyes, and actually _looked_ at Dick for the first time. He was wearing a spangled, fringed jumpsuit that _wasn’t_ the infamous early Nightwing costume. It was white, with bell-bottoms and a plunging neckline, with a rhinestone-studded belt. His hair was in a pompadour. And he struck a pose, one hip out, head bowed, arm in the air.

Dangling from the arm in the air was another white sequined jumpsuit, this one featuring a cape with a bejeweled eagle on the back. 

“No,” Tim said, horror-struck, as he remembered with sudden clarity Dick mentioning a tip he’d gotten about a shipment of drugs being smuggled through at an upcoming Elvis convention, and Tim laughingly saying that he’d only go if there were costumes.

“Yes,” Dick said. “We pinky-swore, Tim, you can’t back out now.”

It was true; they had. Tim sighed and got out of bed, taking the jumpsuit from Dick. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“This is easily the best undercover gig I’ve ever had,” Dick confirmed. “Shake a leg, we don’t want to be late!”

Tim dressed quickly. The jumpsuit didn’t feel as weird as it ought, given what he wore out every night, and he kind of enjoyed the short cape. Dick produced some shiny satin scarves to complete their ensembles -- blue for himself, red for Tim, which made him smile, and even big gold sunglasses. After his hair had been fixed, he had to admit they both made pretty good Elvises; he doubted anyone would identify them as members of the Wayne family, at the very least.

On the ride to the convention hall -- a mid-sized one, Tim noticed, with minimal advertising, even though, as far as he knew, Elvis impersonation didn’t trigger any of Gotham’s major rogues -- Dick updated him on the case. He’d done a decent amount of footwork on it already. There was supposed to be a major shipment of newly produced narcotics coming in through the con somehow. The only solid name he had was Geezer, and Dick was unsure if that was a description or a name.

“So we’re going to stalk every geriatric Elvis we can find?” Tim said. 

“Stalk is such a negative word,” Dick said. He looked unfairly good as Elvis, and Tim was mildly concerned that they were going to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. Tim himself at least knew he wouldn’t; the jumpsuit he was wearing was too big, and made his lean frame look scrawny instead. It was the trick he’d used in high school to avoid looking too fit, but Dick had not chosen to go that route himself. 

Tim planned on making fun of him for that.

Arriving at the convention center was a treat, as he and Dick fit in perfectly. Almost everyone in attendance was wearing Elvis costumes, the majority of which were white rhinestone-crusted ones similar to the ones they were wearing, with a few black leather outfits or gold suits mixed in for fun. 

They spent two solid hours moving through the crowds, listening to snippets of conversation and looking for suspicious body language. They focused on the convention hall with its dozens of booths filled to the brim with Elvis merch. They were the likeliest spot for surreptitious drug deals, though Dick’s information hinted at a much larger operation than just two-bit dealers.

In actuality most of their time was actually spent trying on ridiculous hats, posing with various other Elvises, at one point joining in on a giant karaoke flash mob to Jailhouse Rock despite not knowing the choreography (Dick hissed, “Just shake your pelvis, it’ll be fine” and lo and behold for once that advice was spot on) and in general having a grand time.

It was, actually, such a grand time that Tim started to become suspicious that this wasn’t actually a drug bust but an elaborate excuse to have an outing to an Elvis convention.

“So why didn’t you bring the brat instead?” he asked as they got fried peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwiches. Now that he was thinking about the day critically, he was doubting everything. This was exactly the sort of dumb adventure that Dick would normally love to drag Damian to, under the guise of exposing him to quote-unquote _culture_.

Dick cast his eyes around and said, “I love Dami, don’t get me wrong, but some things are sacred.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “you didn’t want him to harsh your vibe by refusing to wear a jumpsuit.”

“Exactly,” Dick said, nodding. Several hours in and Tim still wanted to laugh when he really focused on what Dick looked like, especially since he’d truly taken to the role and was doing a lip snarl to punctuate nearly every sentence.

“But Jason would have eaten this up,” Tim pointed out. It was exactly the sort of over-the-top nonsense that Jason excelled at, despite denying the fact vehemently. “Or Cass. She would have been an incredible Elvis. She would have crushed Jailhouse Rock.”

“You wanna make this a family outing next time?” Dick’s whole face lit up. “Awww, baby bro!”

“Shut up,” Tim muttered. “There’s totally not a next time.”

“Crime never sleeps, Timmy, and look at how many shady individuals are here.” Dick pointed to a toddler taking a few wobbly steps then tripping over its bell bottoms. “I mean, by next year, there’s a crime lord in the making.”

“Not what I said!” Tim said, laughing. “I just wondered, you know, why me, out of everyone.”

Just like that, the laughter dropped from Dick’s eyes and he straightened up. For one brief second Tim could see how he managed to be a convincing Batman, with all of Dick’s focus completely on him, and then Dick said, “Tim, you’re important to me, you know that, right? I knew this was going to actually be a fun mission for once, and I miss having fun with you.”

Oh. Tim knew logically that they hadn’t spent as much time together recently as they used to, especially as they used to back when he was Robin, but he hadn’t thought that Dick missed it as much as he did.

“I’m glad,” he said, and didn’t duck away at all when Dick wrapped him up in a bear hug, then continued to lead the way with an arm draped over his shoulder. 

“There’s a panel starting soon about theories on Elvis’s current whereabouts, I bet there’ll be plenty of geezers there.” Dick led the way to a room off the main convention floor.

Sure enough, given how dated the Elvis-is-alive theory was, most of the audience and the entire panel were decidedly geriatric. The panelists presented theories that were in depth and crazy enough that Tim almost wanted to look into their veracity, even though he knew that if Elvis had truly not died, some superhero would have surely come across him by now and he would have heard about it. 

The audience was of far more interest. Several of the Elvises would get up, whisper to another, then disappear behind a curtain for a few minutes. Tim elbowed Dick when he noticed, and Dick nodded. They snuck around to the curtain, and peeked behind it.

Another Elvis, this time in statue form.

Tim shrugged, unsure as to why people were sneaking in to see a statue of Elvis when there were easily a dozen other animatronic ones at various points on the convention floor. They approached slowly, but the statue was just that: a statue.

“Weird,” Tim said.

Dick shrugged and looked at it closely. “Pretty good likeness.” He poked it in the chest, randomly poking at various rhinestones, and there was a faint whirring sound from within the statue, and the rhinestone belt popped open like a quarter candy machine and dropped two pills onto the floor.

They stood for a moment, blinking at the revelation that they’d found a secret narcotic dispensing machine disguised as an Elvis statue. 

“Huh,” Tim said, “I’m gonna be honest with you here, I didn’t actually think this was a real mission.”

“I mean,” Dick said, “Valid. I honestly didn’t think that it would be something this outlandish. Guess we wait here and kick the ass of whoever comes to try to collect money from us?”

“What if it’s the old Elvises?” Tim said. “Is it morally okay to kick geriatric ass?”

“We can gently kick their ass, I guess?” Dick said. “Real delicate-like.”

It was a truly embarrassing moment to be a vigilante. The narcotic ring was masterminded by three guys in their eighties who probably had dealt to the King himself, and Dick and Tim had to very delicately immobilize their scooters and zip-tie them before alerting the police. They waited in the little anteroom making sure no one else stumbled across the drugs or dealers until they heard the approach of officers, then slipped out into the crowd just as the dance-off began.

Dick of course insisted they join in before leaving, and Tim had to admit he was glad; it was a sight to see.


End file.
